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New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899, November 12, 1871, Image 7

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Sunday Edition. November 12,
Ry Amerll.
Lost in the mazes of the wide, wide world,
A gentle girl, a mainen young and fair.
Her sunny hair in clustering ringlets curled
Above a brow offsnow untouched by care.
Her azure eyes, her heart’s sweet seal of truth,
O’erbrimming with a maiden’s smiles and tears;
And speaking in their depths a happy youth.
Or wayward impulse of her sixteen years.
Her laughter, like a chime of fairy bolls,
Or song of winged seraphs that rejoice,
Bohoed upon the hills and in the dells.
Sweet places long familiar with her voice.
I miss her from the warbling woodland stream*
Where opes the violet on the sloping hill;
When noonday holds aloft her burning beam,
Or Summer birds their vesper anthems trill.
1 miss her at the e rly peep of day;
When wont she was to trip the dewy lea;
The merry song she flung so wild and gay,
To mock the wild birds in the woodland tree.
They say she dwells among the rich and great,
And point me to that stately matron there;
They say her beauty brought her wealth’s estate,
And title worth a maiden’s life to wear.
And thus I find the maid of olden years
But changed amid the world’s mad whirl and strife;
From laughing youth to woman’s care and tears,
I’ve lost the maiden in the woman’s life.
Detroit Commercial Advertiser,
eg." w a
gduufl flu few.
w 4V w w r>l. ar ...
ms mm hvm
It is quite a common thing now-a-Jays io
hear some lean and slippered Pantaloon in
dulge his hearers in lachrymose lamentations
over the decline of the legitimate drama. Now
with all due respect to the traditions of my
profession, I confess I am vandal enough not
to tako the matter very seriously to heart.
The term legitimate, in itself, is a sort of as
sumption that everything outside of that
Charmed circle must necessarily be of doubtful
and illegal paternity. There is a certain class
of actors with a stock in trade of half a dozen
parts at most, who, season after season, dating
back for half a century, traverse the country
from one end to the other, and notwithstand
ing the increasing infirmities of years, and the
progressive tendencies of the age, still expect
the present generation to gointoraptures over
faded excellencies and skeletons ot reputations
which might have been profitably interred with
the remains of our grandfathers. To me, one
Hamlet is painfully like another. There is a
Certain traditional business in Hamlet so ster
eotyped. lam quite sure before the perform
ance begins that at a certain point Ophelia’s
fan will be torn to smite? roens. JI also know in
advance that the “Alas! poor Yorick” of Mr.
Fusbus Fitz Ciair, the new star, is wonderfully
like the “Alas! poor Yorick” of Coriolanus
Gruff, the favorite of forty years ago. Gruff
may have the advantage of a more trombone
like elocution, and a more ponderous stage
presence, but from the fact that 1 have seen
the point made so often, is it to bo wondered at
that the effort of either gentlman fails to in
spire me. with the wonder and admiration it at
the first elicited.
Now, it has got to be a matter of small dif
ference to me whether Gruff follows the Ghost
.with bis rapier en guardo or panto reverse,
and though he may differ materially from Fitz
Clair in minor matters of delivery and em
phasis, yet I am quite sure his hat and cloak
will be left behind as he follows the Ghost, and
that Horatio and Marcellus, though “almost
distilled to jelly in the act of fear,” are certain
to recover those useful articles of wardrobe be
fore making their exit. I know that all this is
very right, and even necessary. I am aware
that in the next scene, when the Ghost comes
backing on, bis feet might got entangled, and
I have always admired the foresight which
suggested the removal; but constant repeti
tion has so far blunted my sense of appreci
ation that I candidly confess 1 am not “ much
moved” by any novelty of a legitimate nature
that I have seen for years. “ Hamlet,” “ Mac
beth,” and “Othello” are all very well in their
way, but people will not weep forever over the
Borrows of Ophelia, and the self-styled legiti
mate exponents of the drama must not wonder
if the dear public will be taken occasionally
with “wandering after strange fancies,” and
that the Blondes and the “Black Crook” will
, pack the theatres, while Hamlet may air bis
sables to a beggarly account of empty boxes.
The public want novelty, and they will have it,
even at the expense of legitimate taste as it is
called. The fault lies with the legitimate
• gentlemen themselves—generally pompous,
Bolf-sufiioiont, and arrogant—men who have
accumulated vast fortunes on a small amount
of real legitimate capital—men who would see
authors like John Howard Payne languishing
<at their doorsteps, and from whoso well-filled
money-bags not a dollar could be wrung for
the advancement of the drama they whine so
much about.
Certain of those legitimate gentlemen have
Jong been a dreary drag on the profession ;
gentlemen whose worldly prosperity has ren
dered them overbearing and insolent to their
less successful brothers, and whose downfall I
can look upon without a shadow of regret. 1
must say 1 rather rejoice at it. I am theatrical
democrat enough to rejoice that common
r sonso ’ ' i progressive spirit of the times
bavo io place of ponderous elocution
and si igyism, and that the labors of
mon h. n Brougham, Robertson, Bouci
•cault, ~. om Taylor are appreciated live
men, ffK ;ci the spirit of the time, and do
not depc- jrTneir popularity on the defunct
glories of nlty years ago. Stars after all are
Bometbing like horses in a pecuniary point of
U?dew, only valuable in proportion to their
capacity to draw. When we "see little Lotta,
with her clogs and banjo, waltzing into the
the affections of the public, and packing such
classic temples as Wallack’s and Booth’s,
—what’s the use in whining about it. Give the
~little thing credit that she understands modern
human nature bettor than wo do, and lei
Coriolanus Gruff wrap his toga about his
manly form, and retire with all tho grace he
•Jan. “Vulgar plebe” mothinks I hear him
r mutter at this friendly suggestion, but I
appeal .if tho advice is not sound. I merely
deal with facts as 1 find them, and when I say
that Uncle Tom lias furnished more bread anu
. butter for actors and their families for fifteen
years back than Hamlet has, I say it more in
Borrow than in anger, but the/acl remains tho
same nevertheless.
Did you ever sit next to some unsophisti
cated country girl dujing the perlormance of
tragedy? Say some rustic young lady who
-is visiting the theatre for the first time. Ton
chances to one if her attention will not be
from the impressive obsequies of
Ophelia to some slim-shanked supernumerar.',’,
and audience and the actors may consider
themselves fortunate if Matilda Jane does not
•mar right out in meeting.
BrThis feeling of levity is very apt to tako
' hold of tho actors themselves at tunes, “ oven
while some necessary question of tho play be
then to be considered.” One inveterate joker
—X remember, who became a sort of terror t >
Prill the tragedy star.- through the Western aivl
Southern circuits. I role;- to Charlie Salis
“Pestilence on him for a mail rogue!”
- This UUP., in his time, had been a fine act'
fHe had filled every lino of business on tiie
Btago ; but such was his unconquerable dispo
sition to drollery, constantly perpetrating
■jmo outrageous joke wherever and wheneve ■
■K could find a victim, that, toward the latter
“end of his career, he found it difficult to get a
situation. The mad freaks of Charlie would
fill a volume. “A fellow of infinite jest,”wlio
bad no reverence even for the most exalted
rued venerable of his so called superiors.
Charlie, some years ago, had rendered himself
particularly obnoxious to a certain stalwart
Btar, who was playing in Cincinnati. Scarce a
night passed but Charlie was almost sure, in
way or other, to draw down the displeas-
Brire of the tragedian, till matters culminated
f in his discharge. On his last appearance ha
was cast for Dentatus, in “Virginius,” and
Charlie contrived to give his tragic friends a
dose of annoyance before leaving, it
■■sUl be remembered that in the course of the
F tragedy old Dintatus is slain.
There is a very affecting front scene, whore
tho corpse of the venerable warrior is borne on
on a litter, covered by a funeral pall. Virgin
ius has some pathetic speeches over his de
parted comrade, and in the course of tho scene
Is so overcome.by his feelings as to bend kneol
over the bier, and bury his face in the
with whicn tho corpse is enshrouded.
With the instinct of tho dying polo cat
. Charlie had resolved to bo revenged on the ol-
of his enemy, if he could not roach
Maim in a more vulnerable part. To this end
I Charlie had provided himself with a pot of
, glue sizing in an advanced state of decomposl
-1 tion, which he had removed for tho occasion
> friyn the painters’ gallery. It was painfully
aifdont that this atrocious compound had not
stirred up for months, for on being dis
■ an abominable effluvia was emitted,
■eh nearly drove all iho people from tho side
stage at which it was let loose. Pre-
lo the funeral scene, the corpse might
■pPb been observed busy at work in a dark re
cess near the property room. With a big
r brush ho was annointing tho lege and handles
k™ fitter, till they iairly dripped with the
■borriulo mixture. “Ready, Mr. Salisbury,”
■TJ the call boy. “All right,” returned
■B-arlie, giving a final dab of the reeking
right m the centre of the pall.
And drawing the drapery of bi a couch about
t him, he laid himself out, still retainin'- tho
well charged brush, cunningly coneoale'd be
‘ eicXhim. There is a very doleful dirge played
i as the corpse is carried on, for which purpose
the band had been ordered up to perform in
the wings at the back. By this time the beau
tiful process of embalment might have been
■* profitably applied to tile defunct veteran. The
gas hgbtei in the vicinity began to burn blue.
, * Gott!” exclaimed a rotund German
i with a trombone, “dis is do vourstest scheeme
1 I hev never see before.” “Horrible,” snuffled
Athe prompter, holding his nose. “Whew'”
■Bbw gentlemen begin, "piano." And the
■►Germans with tears rolling down their
pßueeka struck up the funeral melody. The un
fortunate supers with spears reversed and
I noses also, brought up tho rear of tho melan
choly procession. Tho unconscious cause of
all betraying satisfaction by an ill-concealed
earthquake from beneath his funeral trap
To describe the intense disgust of the star,
and his justly indignant denunciation of the
offending joker, is more than my feeble pen
can portray.
“Are you aware, sir, that you have ruined
one of the best scenes of tho piece? If you
arc not, sir, your sense of smell must be totally
obliterated ; for a more abominable odor it has
never been my ill-fortune to experience.
“ Odor, sir? lamat a loss to even to guess
your meaning. Now that you draw my atten
tion to it I think I do detect a faint odor of
pineapples or strawberries—nothing more.
“ Nothing more,” roared tho enraged trage
dian • “then your senses must be dead as those
of old Dentatus himself.”
“ True, ” continued the provoking wag, “ per
haps that may account for it. You must re
member, sir, I have been a corpse for three
days, and I beg you to reflect that after you
have been defunct that length of time your
self your presence may not be much more
agreeable than mine is now. If my presence
is offensive, however, I respectfully beg leave
to retire.”
So saying, with a face as guileless as a new
born babe, and “with a smile that was child
like and bland,” he gracefully retired.
His salary in full for the week was sent him
to his dressing-room, and while the farce was
going on, Charlie was all packed up and ready
to start for Now York by the midnight train.
I encountered him descending from the dress
ing-room, with his wardrobe-box on his back.
“Good-by, old follow,” gasped Charlie.
“Heaven biess you when I am far away-
“ To other clime'? my old trunk I'll bear;
Freedom is hence, and banishment is here.”
It was a clear, bright May morning that I
crossed the Hudson river on a ferryboat, and
directly after took my seat in one of tho Erie
railway cars bound West, to make purchases
of wool for one of the largest houses in New
York city. I had been on these trips before—
in fact, it was my business to hunt up stock in
the West and purchase it—and I know pretty
nearly every section of country I had to trav
erse. A large acquaintance m the Western
States caused me to feel at home wherever I
stopped, as I always met scores of friends.
I took my seat in a car, and as 1 was full a
half hour in advance of the time of starting, 1
commenced to read over the columns of the
dailies with which I had provided myself.
After a while the passengers began to come
in, and before I was aware of it tho seats were
all filled save the one adjoining my own.
As I lifted mv eyes from the newspaper, I
was just in time to discover a German, ot mid
dle age, standing before me, gazing with an
undecided expression upon the only vacant
seat left. Lifting my traveling-bag to tho rack
above my head, I motioned him beside me,
and he quickly ensconced himself, as if glad to
secure the place. He was a fair-haired, blue
eyed man, of apparently forty years of age,
clad in light-colored clothing.
Drawing a German book from his pocket, he
soon became absorbed in the pages, and half
the day passed away ere he ventured to speak
to me. At length he closed his book, and turn
ing to me he remarked:
“ It is a pleasant day, sir.”
I nodded an assent, and a silence of several
minutes followed.
“Are you going to Cincinnati?” he asked.
“ Not directly,” I answered. “I don’t expect
to reach there for some days yet. I afn on
business which will tako me all over the West;
in short, I am purchasing wool.”
“ And I,” he replied, “am traveling for a
large jewelry house, and shall have to traverse
the country pretty extensively also.”
Here he gave his name as Theodore Kant
By degrees we became more communicative,
and before night closed in he gave me a brief
sketch of his life. He came from the town of
Nuremberg, and had been in the United States
but three years. His father, he said, who was
a Lutheran clergyman, had intended him for
the musical profession, as he had early dis
played a great talent for music; but at the age
of eleven he was taken ill, and was of a sickly
nature until he attained his twenty-second
year, when, under the care of skillful physi
cians, he regained his health.
But just when he was rejoicing in his re
turned vigor, he was taken to serve in the
Prussian army. This ruined all the plans he
had formed for the future.
Disgusted and morose, he put on his uniform
and went into the ranks.
“ I always intended,” he said, “to desert
when an opportunity offered; for, to tell the
truth, I had no patriotism whatever. I used
to be a man of strong and inflexible determina
tion. lam so no longer. lam as nervous as
a girl, and the sight of blood makes mo sick.
Understand me, 1 am not a coward; I never
was ; but you will better understand my na
ture if I relate the cause which, from a hardy,
resolute fellow, made me as tremulous as a
“I suppose you have read something about
our last attempt at revolution. I was in the
ranks, and, though my heart was with the Re
publicans, I, nevertheless, did my duty to the
king. My regiment was sent from Berlin to
Nuremberg. This delighted me greatly, for I
should see my father again, and revisit my old
nome. We no sooner got there than a rumor
of some trouble with the people reached us.
I didn’t place much faith in the report, how
ever, for the Nuremberger were a quiet set.
“My father welcomed me with open arms,
and wept while ho embraced mo. Poor old
man, it was the last time I saw him alive. Tho
next day a company of our regiment were pa
troiing the town, when they were insulted by a
number of young Republicans, who very incau
tiously hissed them. The officer m command
ordered them to disperse, and they refused.
Their obstinacy so much exasperated him, that
he ordered bis soldiers to fire. The order was
obeyed but too well. The people were shot
down like wild beasts, and my poor, dear old
father (who was passing at tho moment, hav
ing been out to visit a sick parishioner) was
instantly killed by a musket ball. When Tsaw
his pale, sainted face up turned and stone-cold,
my reason almost failed me, and I secretly
swore I would avenge his death by killing the
officer who had brutally ordered his men to
fire upon my countrymen. It was months ere
I found an opportunity to perform my vow,
but it came at last. 1 met him in an ’unfre
quented part of the town, and challenged him
to fight me. Ho regarded me with surprise,
and ordered me to the barracks, saying he
would have me shot. But I was in no mood
<or trifling. I drew my sword and commenced
to attack him so fiercely that he was compelled
to draw his sword also.
“ ‘ Viliain !’ he exclaimed, ‘ you shall pay for
this,’ as he pressed mo closely.
“ I uttered a disdainful laugh, and wounded
him on the cheek. He fought bravely, and
never once flinched. Ho was an adroit swords
man, and it gave mo some trouble to overcome
aim. But I was determined to kill him, and I
finally accomplished my purpose by running
him through tho heart. Washing the stains
from my sword in a brook near by, I hurried
away from tho scene, but I was a changed man.
A feeling took possession of mo that has never
loft me. I now start and tremble at the small
est danger. My nerves are gone.
“ Of course the death of the officer (who was
soon after found) ■ created a great excitement
m military circles, and a large reward, was of
fered for the perpetrator of the crime, while
tho people were treated with greater rigor
than ever. 1 never had any remorse for what
1 did, for I killed him in a fair duel. I would
do the same thing again, if able. My desire
now was to desert, and to this end I planned
day and night. It was a long time ere fortune
favored me. At length, however, tho oppor
tunity offered. I escaped into Switzerland,
where I lived for a year, and then made my
way to England, where I wont to work with a
watchmaker. I resided in London for ten
years, and then came to the United States. I
have been engaged chiefly in the jewelry busi
ness since my arrival here.”
I took great interest in Kantzinger, for his
frank and open manner pleased me, and his
misfortunes gained my sympathy. At Cleve
land I bid him good-by, hoping that we might
meet again.
I had been roaming about in tho West in
pursuit of my business, and my Prussian
acquaintance had quite passed out of my mind.
News came tome one day that there was a
lot of wool at a place called Canton, some
twenty miles distant. I was anxious to pur
chase it, so as to make up my average, for
there was an enterprising Philadelphia buyer
then in the town, and if he heard of it, he might
got tho start of mo, and secure it himself. I
accordingly got a man to harness up his horse,
and paying him ten. dollars in advance, ho
agreed to drive me to Canton before daylight.
My Philadelphia competitor was fast asleep
when we emerged from tho stable and drove
out upon the high road. I had not gono far
before I discovered that my driver was drunk
and was becoming quarrelsome. Finally he
stopped the horse, declaring ho would go no
further. I expostulated, but he swore and
threatened to whip me if I gave him any trou
ble. It was quite dark, and I scarcely knew
what.to do. At last a thought occurred to
“ Well,” I said, “it don’t make much differ
ence, any how ; let us get out and make a tiro ;
then we will get drunk.”
“I never get drunk,” ho replied, trying to
steady himself as he stood up in the wagon ;
“ but if you’ll givo me your hand, honest, I’ll
drink with you.”
I took bis hard, bony fiat and squeezed it,
telling him he was a trump. Wo then got out
and tied theJiorse to a tree, and made afire
by'the. roadside, and sat down to drink from a
slune jug which ho produced from the bottom
of the vehicle. In half an hour my man was
so overcome with liquor, that he fell over and
i went to sleep.
i Leaving him to enjoy his repose, I unhitched
: the horse and drove away as fast as was safe
lon a dark night. 'The houses only appeared at
I long intervals, but when daylight camo I had
; tho happiness to see an early riser in his shirt
j sleeves standing at the door of one of these
habitations. But my chagrin was great when
I discovered that I was off my course, and had
to retrace my way a long distance before I got
on the right road again. I made the best time
i could hut it was late in the afternoon before
I drove up to the only public house in Canton.
I was weary and hungry, and as I sauntered
about the bar-room, waiting for something to
be cooked for me, the door opened and a
couple of men entered, bringing in two iron
bound trunks, such as traveling salesmen
usually carry. Directly afterward who should
come in but my Prussian acquaintance, Theo
dore Kantzinger. I was exceedingly happy to
meet him, for I was dull and lonely. After a
hearty handshaking he went to his room, say
ing he would bo back directly. During his
absence, a coarse, bloated-looking fellow came
in, and noticing the trunks, remarked:
“ Are those yours ?”
“ No,” I replied, “ they are not.”
“Guess they contain something valuable,
from the heft,” he continued, raising one of
them by the end.
I did not liko the man’s looks, but turned
away and began looking out of the window.
The fellow threw himself on a bench and either
went or pretended to be asleep.
Kantzinger soon returned and we went to
supper. Later be proposed that we should go
to his room and play a game of euchre. I
assented, and wo passed an hour away in this
manner, when I started to go to bed.
“Sleep with mo,” he said.
“No,” I replied, “I may disturb you, for I
am restless at night; and I think 111 go to my
own room.”
“I wish you would stay,” he said.
“Do you really ?” ho asked.
“ Yes, I do,” he answered.
“Then I’ll remain,” I replied, and forthwith
I commenced to undress, he doing the same.
As I was taking off my clothes, my eyes hap
pened to fall on lus trunks, which stood in one
corner of the room, and I thought of what the
fellow in the bar-room had said. When I re
peated it to Kantzinger ho became very un
“I have a great many valuable articles
there,” he said, “and the responsibility some
times weighs heavy on my mind.”
“ You have got a shooter, I suppose ?” I said.
“Yes,” he returned ; “it’s at the bottom of
one of those trunks.”
I laughed outright.
“Never mind,” I said, “I’ve something in
my pocket,” pointing to my coat on the wall.
I examined the door, saw it was securely
locked, then jumped into bed and went to sleep.
About midnight I felt Kantzinger puli me.
“ Listen !” ho whispered. “Do you hear any
Sure enough, I could hear a sawing every lit
tle while at our door. 1 quietly arose from
bod, and slipping on my pantaloons, went to
my coat end took out my revolver, and ap
proached tho door. A feeble light through the
chinks showed that the burglar had a dark
lantern. I placed my hand near the lock and
found that it had been bored all around with a
circle of augur holes, and tho operator was
busily sawing from one hole to the other, and
in a few minutes would have had the lock in
his possession. I placed the muzzJo at my
pistol in one of the augur holes and fired. A
heevy fall and groan immediately ensued.
Kantzinger struck a light, and I opened tho
door, when I found tho rascal who hod spoken
to me in tho bar-room shot through tho shoul
der, and lying on tho entry floor. By this time
the landlord and his household were there also.
“ What is this ?” he asked.
I explained tho matter, and he, walking up
to the wounded man, remarked:
“ So it’s you, hey?”
“ Let us get a blanket and put him in it,” I
“ I’vo no blankets in my house for a thief,”
coolly replied tho landlord, turning to walk
“ But you surely will not leave the man to
die here ?” I said.
“ It’s no matter of mine, stranger,” he an
swered ; “do as you plqase, I’ve no blankets
for a thief.”
One of tho women, however, got a blanket
and we took the man down stairs, and placing
him on a wooden settee, examined his injury.
The ball had entered his right shoulder, and
passed out at his back.
Kantzinger and myself did not go to bed
again, but remained with the wounded man.
When morning camo, I asked tho landlord if
there was a magistrate in the place, as I
wished to give myself up, the man appeared to
be getting low.
“Don’t trouble yourself about that,” be re
plied ; “no matter what comes of it, no ques
tions will be asked. \Ye do things in our own
way here.”
“That’s all very well,” I said, “ but I would
feel better if I saw a magistrate.”
“ Well, if you are particular about it,” he re
plied, “ I’ll go with you to Squire Louis.”
I accordingly started with him, Kantzinger
also accompanying us. We found the magis
trate just up. I told my story, and he listened
“Are you a drummer?” he asked.
“No,” I replied ; “I am purchasing wool for
a New York house.”
“Wooll” he exclaimed, brightening up.
“Look hero, stranger, I’ve got as nice a let
of wool as there is in the country. Will you
buy it?”
“ Step 1” I said. “ One thing at a time. Let
us settle this shooting case first.”
“Well,” he replied, looking at tho landlord,
“ what do you think?”
“I told him,” returned the other, “to clear
out whenever he was ready; nobody cares
whether Bob Stokes dies or not.”
“ Guess the landlord is right,” said the ma
gistrate. “You needn’t bother about it. Now
for the wool.”
I made an examination of his stock, and pur
chased all he had, paying cash for it. Direct
ing its shipment, 1 went back to the tavern.
The first man I mot was my driver. Much to
my surprise, he took the matter good-natured
ly, declaring I had played him a big joke.
I left C mton that day with Kantzinger, arid
never heard whether Bob Stokes recovered
from his wound or not.
uu the Blooded. Cliarger,
and. Hew 1 Became Possessed o£ Bini; '£o
getker with Some Account o£ How a
Horse may be an Imposter.
BY E. B.
Saddle-horse for sale.
.Cheap; a fine stepper, perfectly geniie, sound, and
war run ted tree lro_u blemxsii; imnorced from Algeria,
and taken to Mexico withvMarshal Bazine’s army. Ap
ply, etc.
When the above advertisement obtruded it
self over my coffee-cup, the old dreams of de
lightful equestrian exercise which I had never
realized, came back and arrested the progress
of the buttered roll which was on its way to my
mouth. Visions of steel-clad knights, mounted
on tho heavy horses of Normanuy ; of crouch
ing Arabs dashing over the desert; ol' the wild
Indians of Oregon wildly careering over lull
and through valley on their tough cctyuces
caballiros, gracefully galloping beside Andalu
sian damsels ; a picture of tho swells trotting
their thoroughbreds thorough Hyde Park,
and the red-coated squires leaping ditch and
hedge on their gamy hunters ; even an illus
tration I had once seen of Mr. James’ “two
solitary horsemen”—all these appeared before
me in quick succession. 'The old desire to own
and ride? a horse camo back, and, as when a
boy, I regretted that I could not nave Jived in
the old mythological times and been a Centaur,
at once myself and my own horse. It is, there
fore, hardly surprising that I teetered back
and forth in my chair, and said, “Cluck ! cluck 1
Go along, sir!” in my absent-mindedness.
Consciousness of my real situation returned
when, with the long loaf of French broad which
I temporarily thought to be a whip, I struck
my supposed horse over the head, smashing
the coffee-cup, and sending the sugar basin to
the opposite side of the restaurant. I apolo
gized to the proprietor as well as I could when
1 paid the bill, but from a remark made by a
fat customer, who was consuming large quanti
ties of some ragout and corresponding masees
of salad, 1 fear that he thought me a maniac.
Poor fellow 1 his tastes were not ©thetic ;ho
was content to gorge himself with food, and
knew nothing of that poetical elevation oi soul
which I experienced when careering along on
my hobby-noise.
To the stable where the horse advertised for
sale was to be seen I wont, in a horse-car, and
as I looked out of tho front window I could but
sympathize with the poor beasts which dragged
the tponderous vehicle. How sad, I thought,
that the noble horse should be condemned to
such ignoble servitude, when he should be
scampering over turfy, hills with a good rider
on bis back, the one enjoying the ride as much
as the other. I became almost indignant at
myself for having patronized the cruel horse
The stable designated in the advertisement
was by no means such a place as I should have
looked for an aristocratic horse of high lineage.
A gate opened into a small, sandy
yard, at the farther end of which was a stable
of unpainted, weather-stained boards. Two
men were lounging about, and one horse hung
his head dismally over the fence, looking with
an anxious, yet not expectant express on, at a
passing load of hay. One man wore a plush
vest and a cloth cap with a large vizor. He
was a small man, with a weazened, pinkish
face, supported by wiry, red side whiskers,
and had a straw in ins' mouth. The other was
a short, etout man, in a dirtv flannel shirt, the
sleeves of which were rolled up to the elbow;
pantaloons tucked in his boots, clean-shaven
lace, and uo hat.
I mentioned that I had called to see the Al
gerian horse. Tho little man, without parti
cularly noticing mo, said, “ Bill, fetch bout
Maximilian.” :
Bill disappeared through the stable door ;
the man with the straw thrust bis bands in his
pockets, and eyed mo calmly and critically.
It was uncomfortable, and to break the silence
I asked him if he /iad ever read “ Yoiiatt on the
“Played out,” said the man, “years ago.
No use in this ere country.”
I was snubbed. Bill juse then appeared on a
run, dragging a blanketed horso by tho Jialter.
He ran around tho yard, still dragging the
horse, at last stopping so that the animal
stood with ‘his fore feet on the sill of the stable
door,’six inches higher than >the ground on
which his hind feet rested.
“ That’s tho ’os.” said the man.
‘•lndeed!” Ireoliod (*ho seemed to exoeot
me to bo surprised). “What may he be
worth ?”
“He’s a werry wallyble ’os that,” said the
man ; “ I’m afoard he’s too high-priced an ’os
for you, sir.”
“I don’t care for the price,” I carelessly re
marked, “if I can find a horse to suit. What
is your figure ?”
“ You can’t find an ’os like that hevery day—
what should you think he was worth ?”
“ Can’t say I am sure ; havn’t seen him with
out his blankets ; I should say, if he is a good
one, about sloo—possibly $150.”
“ Bill 1” said the man, turning'.his back on me,
“ put that ’os up ; there’s no use hoff him catch
in’ bis death o’ cold for a genlm as don’t know
the walley o’ ’osses.”
I expostulated with the man, and told him
that mine was really a rough estimate; the
horse might be worth much more than I sup
posed. He was mollified, but the effect of my
unguarded statement was to place me at a dis
advantage ; he was now the injured party.
“D’ye want to buy an ’os ?” said the man.
“ I camo for that purpose,” I replied.
“Bill, strip that ’os!”
Bill removed the blanket and tho hood. I
must confess to my disappointment. Tho ani
mal did not strike me as a beauty; his head
seemed large, and his legs coarse ; his color,
too, was pot pleasing—a dirty, bleachacbout
“ He is not very pretty,” I ventured to sug
The man with tho straw glared fiercely at
“Whbthe blarstedL said he was?” ho ex
I was unable to answer; there are some
questions which seem not pertinent to a sub
ject, and are unanswerable, yet have a certain
effect. They vest tho question with a moral
superiority which gives him a great advantage.
Jt ivas so in thig instance. I was placed on tho
defensive, and felt assured that any criticism
on the horse would be taken as a personal
affront by the man with the straw. It occurred
to me at the same time that the horse must be
a valuable one, else his reputation would not be
so jealously guarded by his owner.
“You can’t ’ave been in Lunnun, sir, else
you wouldn’t say that isn’t a ’andsome ’os.
That’s the fashionable color among tho haris
tocracy now. An.’os of that color is worth
more by five guineas than another. People in
this country liain’t no heye for color. Bill, trot
’im hup and down, hand show the genlm ’is
h act ion!”
I could discover nothing remarkable in the
animal’s “haction,” but the man with tho
straw/became so animated in explaining that
the animal was a “’igh stepper, with a big bit
of style,” etc., that 1 dared not advance my
own views on the subject. 1 was anxious to
know the value, in coin, of the horse, but when
I recurred to this subject, the man’s en
thusiasm ceased, ho became reticent, and only
said :
“ Tho real walley hoff a good ’os can’t ba put
up in dollars ! ’
Then he gloomily chewed his straw.
It is always bard to approach a delicate sub-,
ject with a diffident man with whom you have
but sligiit acquaintance. I felt that the man
with tho straw loved his horse, and delighted
in exhibiting him, but tho thought of parting
from him, suggested by any allusion to price,
visibly affected him. Even while annoyed that
business should be delayed, I was forced to re
spect the man’s tender regard for his boast. I
am not sure but its development led me to
think that tho horse must be a fine one to de
serve such a show of affection. I encouraged
the man to tell me.
It was briefly this: He was bred from the
finest of stock by the Emperor of Morocco, and
presented to an Algerian chief who visited
him. The latter was captured in a skirmish
with the French by a colonel of chasseurs, to
whom ho presented the animal as a token of
gratitude for kindness bestowed during the
captivity. The colonel was ordered to Mexico,
and took the horse with him. There his name
was changed from Abd-el-s’-Krub to Maximil
ian. The present owner—the man with the
straw—was also in Mexico, and furnished
horses to the French army, making the ac
quaintance of the colonel at the time.
One day the colonel went out from the lines,
accompanied by a dozen of his soldiers. As
they passed through a narrow canon, a volley
of musket balls killed the whole party except
the colonel, who was dreadfully wounded—
both eyes shot, and with bullet-holes through
his lungs, kidneys, liver, and stomach.
The noble Maximilian galloped back to the
French camp with his dying master, who was
received in the arms of the man with the
straw. He lingered for an hour, and the>
died. His last words were :
“Simpson (the man with the straw), I be
queath to you Maximilian. Take good care of
him, for my sake —and, Simpson, look out for
that—for that quarter crack in his off fore foot.
Mon Dieu 1 I die 1”
When the man with the straw came to this
point in his narrative, he wiped away a tear
with tho back of his hand. It was really a
touching tale, and I was obliged to blow my
nose to conceal my emotion. The horse,which
had been but a commonplace beasoliefore, now
became a hero, and I determined to possess
him, even if I paid an exorbitant price for him.
“I sympathize with you and your friend,
the Colonel,” I said ; “ when affection and dis
tress combine, I cannot withhold my sympa
thy. I 'confess to a desire to possess that
horse, and I may asjwell say that I know noth
ing of horses, and wilbtako him on your rec
ommendation, if we can agree on the price.”
“That’s a wallyble ’oss,” replie'd the man
with the straw, “and I’ve refused five hundred
dollars for ’im—but that was when times was
brisk. ’E hain’t no use to me; e’s just heating
’is bloomin’ ’cad hoff, and hl’ve got to raise
the money. You can ’ave ’im for two fifty, sir,
for good ’ands is what hl wants him to fall in
ter. Just think hoff ’im fetchin’the-.Colonel
back to ’is friends!”
The price seemed high, and I looked at Max
imilian again. There was a bunch on his side
which I did not remember to have seen on any
other horse, and a suspicion flashed across my
mind that he. was not sound. I called the
dealer’s attention to this excrescence.
“ You can’t be blamed, sir,” he said in a com
misserating tone of voice ; “prob’ly you never
sor an ’os of that breed. That bunch is pe
culiar to tho Hemperor of Morrock’s ’osses ;
it’s put there to keep the girth from a-slippin’
back goin’ hup ’ill. That ’ere bunch was per
juced by Mr. Darwin’s Hevorlution process.
Some two thousan’ years ago the Hemperor’s
’oad groom thought ho could do somethin’ of
that kind, and innocerlated an ’oss with a wart.
When the wart got large the ’oss was kept go
in’ hup ’ill, so that the girt shoved down
against it. Then they innocerlated all the sons
and grandsons of that ’oss, and kept ’em goin’
hup ’ill too. It took about 1,200 to get tho
lump well set, and how it would take a thou
san’ years to breed it bout, if you kept riding
the ’osses down ’ill all the time. You see when
it became a regular necessity Nature stopped
in and made the lump a fixture. It’s just the
same principle as tails; if thorn woven tno
gad flies ’osses and hoxen wou’-dn’t 'avu no
Although I feared that the man with the
straw had been imposed on, so far as the theo
ry went, I was satisfied that tho wen was really
useful in its place, and closed the bargain, pay
ing ten dollars extra for the blanket and three
for the halter.
Had I known, at the time of purchase, how
much trouble and anxiety, money and pain
Maximilian would cost me, I should have ro
chnstened him Elephant. I have had no sin
gle, pure and unadulterated moment of peace
since the miserat lo day when Maximilian was
brought to the apology for a stable which I had
caused to bo erected in my back yard. My
beard, which was then of a clear auburn, is
now streaked, with gray, and face is seamed
with lines which givo the appearance of ago
retouched with care and anxiety. When the
horse was brought, I almost regretted my pur
chase. It seemed to me that my sympathies
had got tho better of my judgment, poor as
this was. The beast appeared, and deprived
of the poetic halo which had surrounded him
at the time of purchase, seemed but a common
place object—a dirty, yellowish-blue quadru
ped, with a large, ill-shaped head, and coarse
.limbs which seemed not too firm. 1 looked in
vain for that heroic fire which should have ap
peared in tho eye of a barb whose ancestors
had been potted in royal stables. Yet I con
soled myself with the thought that he had per
formed at least one heroic act, and that “ Hand
some is that handsome doos.” I had reason,
however, to believe that he had spirit, for when
I went to feed him the morning after his arriv
al at my stable, he kicked me over, and laid mo
up for a week with an injured jaw. It was con
soling, even while I had my head in bandages,
and sucked gruel through a straw’, to know
,that Maximilian was a spirited horse. His per
sonal appearance would never have suggested
this virtue.
Having secured the services of a hostler
from the Fashion Stable, who instructed me in
the method ot placing and fixing the saddle, I
one day attempted to ride Maximilian. It was
with much doubt as to my own powers that,
after having been kicked away from his right
side, L succeeded in climbing into the saddle
by tho left route. My mind had been made up
to a terrible struggle for mastery, and I had
decided, in case all other means failed, to
adopt the method suggested in that child’s
book, “The Swiss Family Robinson,” to wit. ;
fasten my teeth in the animal’s ear. Contrary
to my expectation, Maximilian did not violent
ly gyrate. He simply jerked the bridle from
my hand, and commenced gathering bits of
hay from tho ground. I was helpless; there
was none of that exhilaration which I had al
ways attributed to individuals mounted on
horseback; on the contrary, tho feeling was
one of insecurity and depression ; a feeling
that I “wanted to go home.” The hostler
reached the bridle rem to me and departed a
dollar richer than when he came. Still Maxi
milian did not move; he gathered no more
straws from tho ground, but seemed rathor to
be enjoying the delicious repose of a noonday
siesta. I endeavored to encourage him to
proceed, and with one hand on the pommel
suggested onward movements. It may have
been that Maximilian, used to the language of
Algeria and France, did not understand when
I said, “ Get up! Poor pony ! Go along, sir!
Cluck! cluck I ciuck!” eto.; if ho did, ha paid
uo attention to the suggestions. By-and-by a
weakness seemed to overcome him; his fore
legs gave way, nearly spilling me over his
head, and then his hind legs doubled up. I
was terrified, and scrambled out of the way.
Then Maximilian rolled over and over m the
warm sand, smashing the saddle and appa
rently enjoying each sound which indicated a
fresh fracture. In the midst of my disap
pointment, I remembered having heard that a
horse was worth as many hundred dollars as
times he could roll from side to side, and I
found consolation in computing, although the
operation was a trifling tedious, that Maximil
ian’s value was just seventeen hundred dollars.
Then he stood up, shook himself, and looked
at me with an expression as innocent as that
of a school boy whose stomach is full of green
apples and none in sight. I approached him
with the intention, now that I was on foot and
on terms of equality, of punishing him; but
there was a rapid movement by Maximilian, a
small cloud of dust, a presentation of his tail
in my direction, and I was lying prone on the
ground, with two horse shoe marks on my
shirt front.
When, a week after, I had sufficiently recov
ered to make a second attempt, I again
mounted my steed, a new saddle having been
purchased. Ho was more tractable, and ex
cept that he carelessly barked my left leg in
going out of the gate, seemed willing to obey
rein and voice. At the end of the block, how
ever, he came to a stop and obstinately refused
to proceed any further. When I ventured,
after considerable deliberation, to apply the
whip, there was a horsequake behind, the
shock throwing me on to his neck. With some
difficulty I succeeded in scrambling back into
the saddle, losing both hat and whip in the
operation. Here was a dilemma ; I did not
know how to got my hat and whip, and felt
sure that if I dismounted I could not remount.
I essayed the experiment; I recovered my lost
articles; but when I endeavored to mount,
Maximilian would either twist himself around
so that the feat was impossible, or when my
foot was in the stirrup, would hurl his near
hind hoof at mine'with startling exactness of
aim. At last I was obliged to lead him homo
amid the jeers of a troop of ragged urchins
who had been enjoying my defeat.
tThroe weeks of instruction at the riding
school, with horses of known probity and a
teacher of experience, so far advanced me in
equestrianism, that I. could exercise a good
amount of control over Maximilian. We
had some quite enjoyable rides on the Cliff
House road, the one misery being that Maxi
milian often wheeled suddenly around and in
sisted on returning home—a procedure which
I found it impossible to prevent.
No pleasure but has its drawback ; as some
ancient poet has expressed it, “Sweet is the
brier, but bitter is its thornand so with
Maximilian. Not only was he habitually run
ning stray nails into his hoofs, but he was con
tinually ailing. He was as bad as an American
wife educated at a boarding-school. The
veterinary surgeon was often called. Ho pro
nounced the lameness a chronic complaint,
which was certain to appear in a violent form
at uncertain intervals. Then it was the
“heaves.” Next came a partial blindness,
and Maximilian had to undergo ten dollars’
worth of dental surgery, losing two small
teeth, which had some inexplicable connection
with the nerves of the eye. Then I foundered
the poor beast by giving him cold water alter
a warm gallop. The quarter-crack, mentioned
by the Colonel, next reappeared, and rendered
necessary the adoption of a peculiar and ex
pensive stylo of shoe, beside rendering him
useless for months.
When this was comparatively healed, I rode
him out one bright afternoon. Near the Home
stead, Maximilian suddenly exhibited symp
toms of insanity ; he tossed his head m the air,
frothed at the mouth, backed wildly, and
finally tumbled me and himself in the ditch.
The horse doctor said that he had the “ blind
A month afterward, the poor beast began to
swell so that he looked like a hippopotamus. I
sent for the horse doctor ; he came, looked at
the horse, and said : “ wind.” Then he stuck
a knife in Maximilian’s side ; the compressed
air poured out, making a sound like that of a
steamboat blowing off steam. These were not
half of the ills suffered by the heroic Algerian
steed, and he bore them with such equanimity,
never losing his appetite, that I sometimes
thought his sickness was assumed. The
veterinarv surgeon’s bills, to date, amount to
Less than a week ago, I went to San Rafael
to witness the bull-fight, and took Maximil
ian with me. I put him in the stable, and re
quested Mr. Olin to see that he was well cared
“The old horse is looking well,” said he. “ I
thought be was dead years ago !”
“ What do you mean, sir?” I exclaimed, With
some dignity.
“Never would ha’ thought he could have
lasted so; looks better than he did ten years
ago!” said Olin, walking around the animal.
“ Ten years ago! Ten years ago ! Why, sir,
ten years ago he was in Algeria. Ho didn’t
come to Mexico until ’63!”
“Bless you, sir,” replied Olin, “ho was in
Washoe ten years ago. I ran him from ’6l to
’62 in a pack train from Placerville to Virginia,
and he was the laziest, darned horse I ever
see. Ho was too lazy to keep from getting
“Bo you mean, Mr. Olin,” I remarked, with
some severity of manner, “to say that you once
owned that horse ?”
“ Why, of course I do, and I sold him to a
Mexican for seven dollars.”
“You must be mistaken, sir. How do you
know it is the same horse ?”
“ How do I know it? I could toll that horse
in a million, and if there was no other mark, I
would know him by that gum-bile on his slum
mick! Where did you get him?”
With a feeling of having been duped, I told
him of how I had purchased the horse, the
amount paid for him, and the history of Maxi
milian’s Mexican exploits.
“ Who did you buy him of?” asked Olin, with
some earnestness.
“Of a person named Simpson; a little man
with a stray/ in his mouth.”
Olm sat down in a chair, and his fat sides
shook with laughter.
“I thought so,” said he. “There isn’t an
other cus in the country mean enough and
smart enough to put up such a job. That
horse never see Mexico any more than Simo
son has. They are just about a match team—
the meanest man and the meanest horse in all
And away went Mr. Olin in another fit of
The charm is broken. I feel that Maximilian
is a gross imposter ; his ailments can never be
forgiven for the sake of the heroic character
with which I once invested him. He is an ar
rant humbug, and I wish to get rid of him. I
will not insult humanity by offering him for
sale, but if any one will take him as a gift he
will receive my thanks. lam not sure butthat
I will give ton dollars “to boot” to the indi
vidual who will take him off my hands.
A correspondent of tie Liverpool Courier
relates the following strange occurences in an
old house in South Shields :
One of the most famous of those haunted
mansions is the “Old Hall,” in West Holborn,
South Shields, formerly the residence of some
rich shipowner, who is at present forgotten.
It has long lost its aristocratic standing, and
been let out in tenements, part of it being now
occupied as a public-house, so that the most in
credulous teetotaler may well believe it to be a
rendezvous of evil spirits. A lady, whom I
know, lived in it for some time, and she and all
her family used to hear and see strange things
in it. Dreadful deeds must have been perpe
trated some time or other in its spacious and
once splendid but now ghostly rooms. On one
of the grand mantelpieces, she tells me, are the
marks of two bloody fingers and a thumb,
which no chemical art known to her mother,
who was a notable housewife, up to all points
of domestic economy, could efface. Scrubbing
and scouring had no effect, and even through
successive coats of paint the marks reappeared.
So true is it that the stains of murder are in
delible, and that when everything else is silent
the very walls cry out. The finger-marks are
doubtless those of some female victim of law
less brutality, for the shade of her who im
pressed them is sometimes seen.
One night, Mrs. C could not sleep, so she
sat up in bed reading. About midnight she
saw, to her astonishment, a tall, handsome
lady dressed in white, with a scarlet waistband,
glide across the room, from a door which was
always shut up, toward one of the windows on
the opposite side, where she disappeared. She
made no sign, however, nor intimated any wish
to disclose her secret; but the spot where she
disappeared might have, afforded some clue
had it been searched, for beneath the sill of
that window'—a huge, old-fashioned affair—
there was a recess that nobody thought of pry
ing into.
Through a knot having dropped out ofXhe
wood there was a hole in this place, down which
small articles, such as thimbles, cotton-balls,
&c., were constantly falling, and though often
stuffed up in various ways it always got open
again. Ono of the family undertook one day
to fish the things up with a hooked wire. He
did so, and with them drew up lots of beetles
and other vermin, such as infest graves ; an in
dication, ono would think, of what was below.
Mrs. C. regrets to this day that she did not
cause the sill to be raised. But it was not that
room alone which gave the house a bad name.
My informant once saw what she landed to be
the apparition of a soldier standing on the
landing at the head of the stairs, and others
of the family at different times saw him like
wise. There was one apartment in the house
which no soul ever entered, barring, of course,
disembodied souls, for such it was deemed to
be the favorite haunt. No earthly tenant would
have it for nothing, let alone payment for it;
so that it remained shut up from year end to
year end. What was in it beside the ghosts
nobody ever knew, or dared investigate ; for
oven to peep into it through a keyhole would
have needed more courage than most people
possess. Strange noises were hoard in it oc
casionally. aa if the ghosts were kicking up a
racket among themselves. Perhaps a hidden
treasure lay under the floor, with the moulder
ing bones of murdered men. The elements
had free entrance into it, for not a pane of glass
was left in the window, the door was nailed uo
fast, and the window so situated that it would
have been difficult to get a glimpse through it
into the interior.
A native Japan newspaper, the Siriburi'Tas
thi, contains the following report of an affair
strongly illustrating Japan manners and cus
toms : In the year 1863 a peasant named Yad
aiyu, of the village of Nakagawa, in the prov
ince of Biku-chiu, had a quarrel about a
question of land with"a fellow-villager, named
Cbodaiyu Sono, whom he murdered in the
fields, and then fled away immediately. Chod
aiyu’s sons, named Koji and Kohichi, of the
ages of 18 and 14 respectively, resented pro
foundly the violent death of their father, and
resolved to avenge hitn. After searching
everywhere for eight years, during which time
they underwent every imaginable hardship,
they at last came across their enemy, Yadaiyu,
on the 28th day of the third month, at Hito
kubi village, in the department of Ezashl, near
Hahodate. Yadaiyu, apparently feeling escape
was impossible, said : “ Well, I will cheerfully
meet you at the spot whore I killed your lather
formerly.” So they proceeded thither in com
pany. Kohichi, perceiving that bis foe was
unarmed, gave him the dirk he wore himself,
saying, “ifight with this.” The foe, who was
no coward, saw that so short a weapon would
be of no use, and, pulling up a post which
stood in a field, engaged Koji. The issue
seemed uncertain for some time, when Koh
ichi, spying an opportunity, dealt a blow, and
the two at last brought him to the ground,
thus satisfying the passionate desire which
had haunted them for all these years. Ah!
the spectacle of the sufferings and loyalty of
these two pious sons is calculated to excite
emulation in every one’s breast. But bow are
we to account for a murderer escaping the
clutches ot the law (lit. the meshes of the
not), and preserving bis remnant of existence
for nine long years ?
... w » * w *
We do not know whether our amiable friend,
“Horace Karr,” in the following “remarks,”
has any reference to the “Keyser” of the City
Court House scandal, nor do we know whether
he ever had a dog. _ Wo will, therefore, with
out attempting to find a key-sir to the mystery,
submit his
It was of an Autumn morning, and the sun was
shining bright,
ft was of an Autumn morning, and the birds were
taking flight,
It was of an Autumn morning when our eyes beheld
this sight,
When a gent he came to U 3,
And he said: “You mean old cuss,
It was you what raised the fuss:
I am Keyser, and I’m lookin’ for my dog.’*
Then wo rais-ed of our eyes in a dignifying way,
And we gaze-d on this gent to see what was to pay;
But the words which we had formed somehow we
didn’t say.
For his locks they stood on end,
And his back it had a bend,
Like a Thomas cat when penned:
This man “Keyser which was lookin’ for his dog.”
How the umberell did quiver which we grasp-ed in
our hand I
How the indignation swell-ed beneath our collar
band I
How it bile-d in our stomach, like a glowing fire
As these words we slowly spake:
“ My friend, this is a— mistake:
We no fuss did ever make,
Not with “ Keyser which was lookin’ for his dog. *
Then that gent ho smile-d strangely as he fingered of
his hair,
And he said “ as how he thought tho dog ho might
be there.
But seein’ how ho wasn’t—-well, he guessed he didn’t
Whereupon he went away
On that sunshine Autumn day,
And we asked him not to stay,
Mister “ Keyser, which was lookin’ for his dog.”
Thai Autumn sun went down, and the sky it changed
to gray,
That Autumn sun went down, and wo went all astray,
And the language that we used wouldn’t do to use to
For our gold-cased chron-o-meter,
Our beautiful repeater,
Was gone! O I shall wo meot her?
With that “ Keyser which was lookin’ for his dog ?’*
Many anecdotes are told of Irish simplicity,
and many “ bulls ” are attributed to the sons
and daughters of Erin which they are as much
entitled to be credited with as his eminence
the Popo. But the following anecdote, which
has been submitted to us by a friend, if true,
must have taken place in some other city than
Gotham, the New York Irish ladies belonging
to the class of helps being much more addicted
to potheen than to simplicity:
Molly, our housemaid, is a model one, who uses
the broomstick like a sceptre, and who has an abhor
rence of dirt, and a sympathy for soapsuds that
amounts to a passion. She is a roystering, rosy
choeked, bright-eyed, blundering Hibernian, who
hovers about our book-shelves, making war upon
our love-papers, in the shape of undusted and un
righted corners.
One day she entered our library in a confused and
uncertain manner, quite different from her bustling
way She stood at the door with a letter between
her thumb and finger, which she he’d out at arm’s
length, as if she.had a gunpowder plot in her grasp.
In answer to our inquiries as to her business, she
“An* it plaze yer honor, I’m a poor girl as hasn’t
much lamin’, an’ ye sees, piazo yer honor, Paddy
O’Reilly (and the better than him doesn’t brathe
in ould Ireland) has been writin* me a letter—a love
letter, plaza yer honor; an’ an’ ”
We guessed her embarrassment, and offered to re
lieve it by offering to read it to her. Still she hesi
tated, while she twisted a bit of raw cotton between
her fingers.
“ Sure,” she resumed, “ an* that’s jist what I want;
but it isn’t a gentleman like yourself that would be
liking to know the secrets between us, an’ so”—here
she twined the cotton quite nervously—“if it will
only plaze yer honor, while yer readm* it, so that you
may not hear it yerself, ye’il jist put this bit of cot
ton in yer ears an* stop up yer hearin, an’ thin our
secrets ’ll be unknown to ye I”
We hadn’t the heart to refuse her, and with the
gravest face possible complied with her request; but
often since we have laughed heartily as we related
the incident.
Wo were once told a story by a young friend,
who, not caring to go to church on Sunday,
went up to the garret to enjoy the warm Sum
mer forenoon, by spelling over a book and
smoking a pipe. By and by he began to sing,
and was in full blast, when his father, who had
returned from called to mm that If
he could not respect the Sabbath by going to
church, the least he could do was not to set
that day; but the following instance of
want of appreciation is still more painful!
A young gentleman, anxious to learn to sing, went
up into tho garret one Sunday night about bedtime,
and resolutely commenced his exercises with his
psalm book. He had been singing but a short time,
when his father, a fidgety old gentleman, stole out of
bed with his night can on, ana oa reaching fhe foot
of the stairs, mildly inquired;
No answer came. James was very busy with his
musical exercises.
Still no answer*
“ Have you heard a very peculiar noise ?”
“An—l—thought—but never mind,” and the old
gentleman walked baok to his rooms, muttering in
Presently James resumed his exercises, and was
getting on famously, as he thought,when his parent,
like tho ghost of Hamlet’s, father, again came forth,
“Are you sure that Bose is fastened up ?”
“Yes, sir; I attended to it myselt.”
“Very well, very well; no matter.”
And he once more returned to his room.
Wondering what his father meant by inquiring for
the house dog, Bose, James was silent for a minute,
but soon returned to his exercises, more vigorously
than ever. Again, however, he was interrupted by
the voice of his parent, shouting:
“I am sure Bose is loose.”
“ It can’t be possible, sir.”
“He is, I tell you.”
“What makes you think so, sir ?”
“ Why, for tho last half hour I have heard some
thing that sounded very much as it tho dog was
again worrying the poor old cat.”
James never resumed his exorcises after that over
whelming compliment.
He wonders—if there be any truth in Shak
spere’s remark that those who have not music
in their soul—what treason, strategy, or spoil
his “guv’nor” is up to.
Notwithstanding that many married folks
assert, who have not been fortunate enough to
have any of those blessings of which Sairoy
Gamp used to remark that “he was blessed
who had his quiver full of sich”—that they are
not only quite content to be without children,
but that they infinitely prefer to bo so, it is
always a sore spot on which to tease them.
The following is a case in point which has been
sent to us by a correspondent :
In a town not many miles from Nashua resides a
gentleman who has been married a good many years,
but who has no children. Thera is nothing strange
about it. but the fact has causa l a good deal of mer
riment in tho family, an I caused a bachelor brother
to offer letters of recommendation and his influence
to obtain a child for them at t ie Baldwin Place
Homo for Little Wanderers. Bob had been a target
long enough, and was determined to rub out a part
of the score. Ho, therefore, wrote tho following
note to his brother, and forwarded it by the morn
ing express:
“Nat: Twins. Bob.”
Tho message troubled Nat. His conscience ac
cused him of ilie mean jokes ho bad put upon Bob,
and he could find no peace m Boston. Accordingly
Uo louk the next train for his uativo heath with a de-
termination to be of service to his brother in time of
trouble. Arriving at Bob’s, ho found the house
closed, and could obtain no answer to his repeated
knocking, He was alarmed. What did it all mean ?
In his anxiety be visited the back kitchen, where ha
discovered old Bill, the man-of-all-work, fast asleep.
Arousing the venerable functionary, he propounded
the following questions:
“Where is Bob?”
“Gone to Manchester.”
“ Where is Maria ?”
“ Gone to Manchester.”
He began to experience a sense of torture.
“But,” said he, in anger, “I was informed they
had twins.”
“So they have!” And old Bill said no more, but
straightened up his rheumatic frame and conducted
Nat to the bam, where he introduced him to twin
calves! It is said that Nat was so mad that be went
home on the freight train, got married the same
night, and has turned the joke on Bob handsoihely.
There is a good deal of quiet fan in the fol*
lowing, and therefore we willingly submit it for
the perusal of the club :
Oh! the happy hours of colthood.
Now, alas! forever fled,
When I lived ’moug grass and clover,
With my mere long since dead!
How little I thought the green soft turf.
Would be changed for clati’ring stones,
'Or that I should ever get so thin
That my hide wouldn’t hide my bones!
St isn’t that I came of shabby folks;
I’d a hunter for a sire,
And the dam to whom I owed my life
Was the pride of a country squire;
But it’s all because a sidy groom
In ignorance the sin did.
For he sluffed me first, then made me run.
Till I was broken-winded.
8o now I’m.but a wretched hack,
With spavined joints and hocks;
They scarcely ever curry me,
Or trim my rough fetlocks.
If this be the life I’ve to endure,
For pi'y’s sake let me die;
Nay, rather than baa town fly-horse.
I’d become a free horse-fly.
Of provender, too, once thirty pounds.
Each day I’d what I chose,
But now I scarcely smell the oats
In the bag put round my nose.
My joy at one small wisp of hay
Brings on a grim horse laugh;
For it’s no jo e, I’m sure, for any brute
To swallow a cabby’s “chaff.”
And, beside, they keep me out all night.
Oft driving to queer places,
There’s not a trace of rest for me
When once I’m in the traces;
And though the cab is sometimes crammed,
I’m never full inside,
And I often find it hard to walk
When people want to ride.
No doubt many of our readers have read tho
various accounts of tho Chicago disaster, bufc
few of them have secn a more conoiso or mor©
vivid account than tho following from “Herr
Carl Pretzel,” which we commend to the notion
of the members of the club :
fecmcAGo, der 25 times,
October 1871 neider.
To der shendlemens vat writes dot pabors;
Veil, I vant me, vaero I told you someting recht
ava.v gwick oud. Der shkin pone ion dis cidy vas got
proko in couble oud, und der fires vas eaded us ?.U
oop like der duce; you know cot. Ofer you pblease,
und you got blaindy time, und dond got eny doubt
aboud id, und ofer you got no jeckoptions neider, I
yoost can told you all aboud id, mit one handt pe
hindt my pack. Veil, go hedt mit der moosic.
Some olt voman mit a high inshtop on her nozs,
mit ret hairs und plack eyes, gees oud vhen der
efening clouds vas gone down to milk der cow house.
Dose vas a shtiil nite times, mit blaindy vinds blow
ing pooty shtrong enuff. Der cow house vas been
seen shtanding calmiy rcbo?iva on der ground#
shweedly dreamin und shewing der fine cut of pitter
fancy. In dose dusky admospheres und droo der
foliages dripped det- maedohen, hummin some olt
lofe song to der dhree toats vat vas bensifly ino’.inin
in der shwampy hill fobs, und py der grassy shtona
heabs vat vas laid mit ferdile heabs so far vat you
coot hear somettngs.
She vas a lofely maedehen, I baed you. I vish I
had bo many glasses of beer as she vas lofely. Si
lendly she diuks of der dooiies vat she vas got to did,
consekerwend!y she dond vas afraid vert a cendfc
beioes. Mit blaindy meditations on her prow (vat
dond got some poetles on him yet), she dooks a seal
und kommences to milk der cow house. At dis
season of der Fall times, der cow house gits mat like
der duce vhen he got milkt. You might hafe herdt
aboud id mineself, aind it? Veil, I cand help id.
Misteer Kreely he told me all aboud id. Dis cow
house vas yoost kick her outsitos in mit his left
handt der gas can tie out; der greose vas go der pblace
ofer, and pooty soon gwick, pefore you cood said Carl
Pretzel dwo times, dot fires vas eaded eferytings all
oop. Dot vinds vas plow, und dhero vas ox or co»-
ci tomenta mit dor pebbles eferypody. One house
vas go, dhen vhent annodher; dhen, two times vhent
houses. Oh, you dmk a couble times der pad blaccs
vas here yoost now, der glouds vas plue pleck mit
shmoke, und you vas shmoky neider. Eferyvhere
arountyou see dot fires, und you diuk you vaa got
eaded ail oop mineself. Dot vas a plue pleck Mon
day vat vas dhere, und a lay vot a goot mony nefer
dond did vant to hear again. Und dhen to dink,
amitst all dot oxhidement, und sorrowfulness, dhere
vas peeblea mit hearts lide a ehtone marple. Shteat
ing, und humpug, und ah win tie vas done a good
much; but, I dells you vat it vas, ven dhem Irish
Yankee loafers go died dhey got der tuyful ion dot
ting. Now, for inshtinckt, I yoost told you a leedla
shtory rittles:
I vonce got mo a leedle tog Shneid. Fon day he
makes me troubles; he piles me mine leg dwo places
off, so I dink he got der hydralicks. Veil, I clinks I
gif him some death, und Ischraaack him of der jaw,
und such tings. I dies mine tog loose py a hickory
valnut trees, untmit a shtick py his hedt, I makes
him go died. Veil, dot ting vas make me netting ti:-
ferent. I pounds me dot dedt tog so long I can
eh tand. Pooty gwick a man comes, und he says of
me, “Myfrendt, whois der fgtson vat yon shtrike
dot deat’tog.” I yoost told him like dot: “Mine
friendt, I know dot tog vas dead like a post-hole, but
I vant dot tog to undershtandf, und ail odher togs,
dot dhere vas punishment efen afier death.” Ve.l,
dot’s de vay dese fellers vill got it neicler.
Aldough der shkin paek-pone of Schicago vas
proke oben out, dot phlace vood pooty soon gwick
got veil, und we vood been vat wo always been—Fir
tuous und oxcendrick. Yours for shure,
Carl Pretzel.
We will now conclude with the following
One evening last Summer a lady
who belongs to the editorial staff of one of the lead
ing dailies of New York had been detained by office
duties until rather a late hour. Living on the
Lights of Fulton Ferry, it was not much of a ven
ture to go home without an escort, and she started.
Oa the boat, standing outside enjoying the refresh
ing breeze after a day’s toil, she perceived a gentle
man (?) leaning over the guards, but she said noth
ing. “Are you alone?” said he, as the boat neared
the slip. “No, sir,” said she; and without further
interruption, when the boat touched, she stepped
off. “ I thought you were alone ?” said the fellow,
stepping to her side again. “I am not,” replied the
lady. “Why, I don’t see any one; who is with
you?” “God Almighty and the angels, sir. I am
never alone.” “ You keep too good company for me,
madam; good night!” And. lie shot lor a Fulton,
avenue car, then nearly a block away.
Little Johnny was rejoicing in the
possession of his first knife. He sat on tho doorstep,
cutting the end of an old broomstick that had once
been used to poke the fire with, and was consequent
ly charred black on the outside. Each shaving re
moved revealed tho whiteness of the wood beneath.
His mother stood in the doorway watching the col
ored “help” wheeling garbage from tho yard into
tho street. Jhst as Bam passed out with a load,
Johnny looked np and said: “Mamma, did God
make Sam?” “Yes, my son. Why do you ask ?”
Very diligently pursuing his whittling, Johnny re
plied: “ Well, mamma, ho didn’t whittle him enough,
you see.”
Fashionable Piety.
In a church which is garnished with mullion and
With altar and teredos, with gurgoyle and groin.
The penitents* dresses are sealskin and sable,
The odor of Sanctity’s eau-de-cologne,
But surely if Lucifer, flying from Hades,
Could gaze at this crowd, with its paniers and
He would say, looking round at the lords and the
“Ohl where is All Sinners, if this is All Saints?•
A gentleman traveling in Tennes
see, just after the close of the war, overheard the
following conversation between two women of that
country, who had been to town and were returning
home on the cars: No. I—“ What has you in thaC
paper?” No. 2—“ Soda.” No. I—“ Soda? what’s
soda?” No. 2—“ Why don’t you know what soda is?
that are stuff what you puls in biskits that makes
’em git up and hump tharselves.”
Tom Jones and Bill Sykes wers
hunting ducks around Quadio reservoir, one day last
week, when up went a flock, and Tom blazed away,
but the ducks kept on the even tenor of their way,
with the exception of losing a few feathers. “Golly,’*
says Tom, “Imust haye hit one of them. ’Didn’t
you see the leathers fly?” “Yes,” replied Bill;
“ they flew so hard they took the meat off with
A newly-married couple having oc
casion to economize by moving to a poor-house in
Kentucky are deeply indignant because the keeper
thereof assigned them separate wards of the estab
lishment, and have brought suit against him for vio
lating tho marriage ceremony by putting asunder
those whom God had joined.
Western whisky is now raised to
proof with oil of vitriol, to accommodate the growing
callousness of the Western palate. The difficulty
experienced by the distillers is said to be that when
tho liquor is made sufficiently piquant for their
customers* throats it burns all the staves out of th©
Dr. Johnson once silenced a notori
ous female backbiter, who was condemning some of
her female friends for painting their cheeks, by the
remark that “it is a iar less harmless thing for a
lady to redden her own complexion than to blacken
her neighbor’s character.”
“Oh, yes!’' said a fair critic, with
that vivacity of speech and manner in which the
heart, sexe indulge when picking a friend to pieces—
“Oh, yes! Daniel would be very proven table if the
Lord hadn’t turned up so much of his legs to maka
his ie et.”
A Berkshire papa put it thus to hi s
daughter’s gber.u: “Jim, if you want Lou you can
have her; but I don’t want you hanging around un*
less you mean business. If you intend to marry
her, hurry up, for I can’t be kept awake nights much
An old lady walking with her two
grown daughters moonlight night, displayed
her knowledge of astronomy by pointing heaven
ward and exclaiming: “Oh, my dears, do look at
them beautiful stars, Juniper and March !”
Eve had some advantages that no
other married woman ever enjoyed, chief among
which was tho fact that her husband could never
lacerate her heart by telling “how his mother used
to cook.”
What did that young lady mean
when she sa!a to hor lovor: “You may ba too tetr
. tor tlxe cars, but you can take » buss,”

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